Bucky's Anchor

Chapter 2 - In the Shadows of Legends

My first day at S.H.I.E.L.D. was... overwhelming, to say the least. The energy in the building was electric, everyone moving with a purpose that I could only begin to understand. I had been in high-pressure environments before, but this was different. I wasn't just another agent here; I was part of something bigger, something that didn't always make itself known to the world.

I was being led down a hallway by Maria Hill, who kept her pace brisk and her words minimal. "You'll be assigned a mentor for your integration period," she said without looking back at me. "Try to keep up."

I wasn't sure what she meant by that. Try to keep up? With who? We rounded a corner, and Hill finally came to a stop in front of a large training room. Through the glass, I saw various agents sparring, moving with a precision that made it clear they were more than just operatives. They were weapons.

"Your mentor," Hill said, her voice finally betraying a hint of amusement. I turned to follow her gaze, and my heart skipped a beat.

Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow.

I had heard the stories—everyone in our line of work had. Natasha was a legend, and not the mythical kind. The real, dangerous kind. She was standing in the middle of the room, observing the sparring sessions with an intensity that made my stomach twist into knots. Her posture was relaxed, yet somehow every inch of her was alert, ready to strike.

Natasha turned her head slightly, as if she sensed our presence. Her eyes locked onto mine, and for a brief moment, I felt completely exposed, like she could see right through every facade I had ever put up.

Hill smirked. "Good luck, Robinson," she said, and before I could respond, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Great.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The room was filled with the sound of bodies hitting mats, the grunts of exertion, the faint thud of fists meeting pads. Natasha watched me approach, her expression unreadable.

"Emily Robinson," she said, her voice as cool and detached as I expected. "The new recruit."

"That's me," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, sizing me up. "You know how to fight?"

"Yes," I said, perhaps too quickly. Her lips quirked up in what might have been amusement.

"We'll see," she said simply, turning toward the center of the room. "You're sparring with me."

I swallowed hard. Sparring with the Black Widow on my first day? No pressure.

---

The first punch came faster than I could have anticipated. One moment, Natasha was standing calmly in front of me, and the next, her fist was hurtling toward my face. I barely dodged, feeling the rush of air as her knuckles skimmed past my cheek. My instincts kicked in, and I launched into a series of blocks and counterattacks, trying to keep up with her fluid movements.

"Good instincts," she said, her voice maddeningly calm. "But you're overthinking."

She swept my legs out from under me, and I hit the mat hard, the impact jarring every bone in my body. I gritted my teeth, refusing to let out the groan of pain that threatened to escape. Before I could even gather my thoughts, she was on top of me, her knee pressing into my chest, pinning me down.

"Combat isn't about thinking," she continued, her face mere inches from mine. "It's about reacting. Adapting."

I glared up at her, adrenaline and frustration mixing into a potent cocktail in my veins. "Easy for you to say," I spat out, struggling against her grip. "You're a trained assassin."